


Demitasse: Maybe I Need You

by CeruleanHues



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Art Student Michelle Jones, Barista Peter Parker, Coffee Shops, College Student Peter, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Peter Parker isn't Spider-Man, Plot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHues/pseuds/CeruleanHues
Summary: Aside from the comforts of her silent apartment, there's only one other place Michelle Jones can get her work done—a quaint, hidden café fifteen minutes away from NYU. It’s been her favorite place since discovering it her sophomore year, and she finds not one fault with it.That is, until a new barista gets hired and manages to mess up Michelle’s orders in the most annoying way possible—trouble begins to brew.It’s hate at first sight, but after the barista returns a certain valuable object back to Michelle, she realizes that he isn’t as bad as she initially thought.





	1. Third Time's the Charm

Tinges of twilight-hued pastels blemishes her forearms, mirroring the intricate design etched onto her journal. 

Michelle has been sitting here since 8 AM, and the time was now seven minutes past 11 AM. If it weren't for the fact that she has been stopping by in the same coffee shop literally  _ almost  _ every day since her sophomore year, she would have already been kicked out for hogging a table for too long.

She couldn't help it—it was her favourite café. It was everything she needed, a place that motivated her and allowed her creativity to unravel. She needed it the most, considering her thesis deadlines were creeping in.

The coffee was always brewed to perfection, the employees were (almost always) beyond accommodating, the playlist was spot-on, and most importantly, she could work on her sketches and projects in absolute peace. At least, most of the time.

"You done with this?" Ned, one of the long-time employees, asks as he points towards the small slice of cheesecake left on Michelle's plate.

She nods, eyes focused primarily on her journal, and a smile makes its way to her features, "Thanks. Y'know, they should really give you a raise."

"After all the babysitting I do after our new employee?" Ned snorts a bit, sneaking a glance to the area behind the counter, "They better."

MJ follows the trail of his attention, and spots a curly-haired brunette frowning at the coffee machine as if he'd never seen such contraptions before. He's pressing a couple of buttons, steps back to wait, but nothing happens.

"What about him?" She raises a brow, not looking too thrilled or bothered by him, "He looks like he has absolutely no fucking clue on what he's doing."

"Exactly," Ned whisper-yells, eyes widening in slight aggravation, "He's still in training, and guess who they got to do the supervising? Yep,  _ me.  _ I don't get it. We're the same age, and it's just—it's  _ weird."  _

"Well, you've been here the longest—"

"I know that, but it's also kind of my fault he's here."

Michelle drops the soft pastel she's been hovering over her journal since Ned approached her, "Elaborate."

"So, Peter—that's his name, by the way—he takes Biology with me and he's actually a pretty cool dude. We've got a lot of things in common like one time, we were talking about hereditary genes, so I randomly made this Star Wars reference and—" 

"Ned, focus."

"Sorry. Where was I? Oh, anyway. So, one day we were talking and he's telling me about how he's trying to look for some extra income to pay off some college fees cause we all know how expensive that gets, so I'm like 'Dude, you should really check out the café I work in' and so I referred him to the manager and the manager says that we actually do need more people, so I helped him apply for the job and here we are now. See now why this is weird to me? I don’t want him treating me as his boss-but-not-really."

Michelle slowly blinks, trying to process that long string of words that came from Ned and lets out an unenthusiastic "huh". She glances behind him to look at Peter again, who in that span of time from when she last looked at him has now successfully managed to make a cup of coffee.

"He looks smart. I don't get why he's having such a hard time trying to get the coffee machine to work," She comments with a slight shrug, sliding her journal closer to her and opening it at the page she left off.

"Yeah, well, he said that he was more of a tea person. I kind of feel bad. He really is trying his best," Ned was now leaning on the edge of Michelle's table, the two of them watching Peter as he bags an oatmeal cookie and then, with a childish grin of achievement, proceeds to hand it over to the young mother in front of the cashier.

They continue to watch Peter as he begins to clean the sink right after dumping some used blenders there. Michelle is beginning to lose interest, so she shrugs and turns back to finish what she’s doing.

Then, out of nowhere, Peter’s elbow accidentally knocks down a shaker and causes it to fall onto the floor. There is a loud metal clunk and the sound of ice crackling follows suit, making the customers turn their attention towards the source of the commotion. Including MJ; Ned’s been looking this entire time.

Peter is obviously flustered at all the eyes directed towards him. His own eyes are widened, both of his arms were up in surrender, and it's the first time Michelle hears him speak, "Sorry! Don't mind me, just dropped something."

Michelle rolls her eyes, though there's a slight smile of amusement on her lips. She then elbows—as gentle as she defines the word to be—Ned's ass away from the edge of the table, "Stop pitying him and help. Get back to babysitting."

Ned's hand flies to where MJ just nudged him, his mouth gaping in offense and he lets out a prolonged "ow" before picking up the almost empty plate of cheesecake and leaving to help Peter clean up the spill.

Now that Ned was gone, Michelle could  _ finally _ continue working on her art. The page on her journal mimicked one of Claude Monet's landscapes, if Monet had used soft pastels as a medium instead of oils. He was one of the artists whose technique Michelle was further understanding for the purpose of her thesis, and she still wasn't satisfied.

She reaches for cup, and only when she places it to her lips does she realize that it was already empty. What? This was her third one  _ already.  _ A sigh escapes her, and she quickly gets up to walk over to the cashier to shamelessly order her fourth cup of coffee.

"Hi, good morning," the new barista greets her, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled, "What would you like to order?"

Michelle eyes him for a couple of seconds, before scanning the area for other employees, "Where's the other guy?"

"Oh, Ned? He's at the back fetching the mop."

"For the mess you made, right?"

"I, uhm—"

Michelle smirks and drops her cash, "Calm down, I'm kidding. Just a latte, please."

Peter releases a shaky laugh, obviously intimidated by the girl standing in front of him and he punches her order in the cashier. He takes her cash and swaps it with the change, "Your name?"

"Michelle."

She watches as he draws on a smiley face after her name, and she can't help the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'll call when your drink is prepared," Peter smiles at her, and she returns to her table.

Minutes pass. Usually, it would have been done in less than three, but it has now been more than ten minutes and MJ’s patience was beginning to run dry. She occasionally glances towards the counter, and every time she does, it doesn't seem like Peter's progressed from the last time she's checked up on him. Where the hell was Ned?

In frustration, she stands and returns to the cashier, "Oh my god, it's literally espresso and milk. What's taking so fucking long?"

"I'm sorry, it's coming up. I'm really sorry. I'm kind of new here and I'm still learning how to use this," Peter, being flustered, motions to the coffee maker and scratches the back of his neck.

"Can't you just get Ned to make the coffee and you, I don't know, mop up? You're taking too long, dude. Come on," she really didn't want to be  _ that _ person, but Peter was really bringing it out of her. For the love of god.

Ned's head peeps out from the back kitchen, and he is looking at the two in alarm as if they were about to start a brawl. Or rather, as if Michelle was about to pounce on the helpless barista. 

"Let me help you with that," Ned gently nudges Peter away and fixes up everything Peter seemed to screw up. How does a full-grown college senior not know how to make espresso from a machine? It completely _ baffles  _ Ned.

"Thank god," MJ groans.

Peter furrows his brows at her reaction, but he's too scared of her to say anything so he keeps his mouth shut. It  _ was  _ his fault, anyway. And she's the customer. The customer is  _ always _ right.

She waits by the counter the entire time her drink was being prepared.

“Sorry ‘bout that. See what I have to deal with?” Ned says, sliding the drink to her once it was ready.

MJ rolls her eyes, “God, I thought you were just being dramatic when you said you had to babysit.”

Ned laughs, propping his arms onto the countertop, “It’s his first day. Cut him some slack, will ya? Like I said, he’s really trying his best.”

“Well, maybe he should try harder,” MJ responds frankly, speaking loud enough for the new barista to hear. She makes direct eye contact too, and sees him in the corner of the workstation nervously playing with his apron’s hem.

“MJ,” is all Ned says. He speaks softly, and the look he gives her is begging for her to empathize with Peter. 

She hesitates and then sighs, muttering a “fine” before she turns to head back to the corner where her table is situated. Of course, she still shoots Peter a glare before she sits down.

Michelle stays for another half hour before she leaves for school, and despite the less than satisfactory service from the new employee, she follows Ned’s advice and lets it slide. Maybe she was a little harsh on him on his first day.

Tomorrow would be different.

\- - - - -

Another day meant another stop at the coffee shop. Michelle worked tirelessly the night before. So today, she's beyond irritable.

She patiently waits her turn to order. There were about three people in line when she gets there, so she scans the menu (which she's probably already memorized by heart) to figure out if she wanted to be a little bit more adventurous and try something she hasn't yet.

Once the man in front of her steps aside, MJ's expression shifts to something on the verge of annoyance. Behind the cashier was none other than the fuck up himself.

Though she remembers her saying the day before that she wouldn't act like such a prude, she just really wasn't in the mood to deal with incompetence. Especially when it comes to the thing that would fuel her to face the grueling day ahead of her.

Michelle sighs, glances to the side and spots Ned clearing out one of the tables, "Hey, can you get this for me instead?"

Peter's smile falters, and he waves his hands frantically to signal Ned not to help, "No, no, no—I can do this!  _ I got this. _ "

MJ, whose head was still turned towards Ned slowly fixates his attention towards Peter. She's sporting a skeptical look, especially with the way her brow is raised and her arms are crossed. 

She's not going to be petty, so she finally sighs and gives the menu one last glance, "Okay. Let's do something easy. I'll have one Jasmine Green Tea, please. Completely foolproof. You  _ cannot  _ mess that one up," her smile is of raging sarcasm, and she hands Peter the payment in exact.

Peter, at this point, is completely scared shitless of this one customer. He recalls everything Ned had told him when they were closing last night. And he definitely does  _ not _ want to fall deeper down into Michelle Jones' bad side.

So, he forces an amiable smile and nods sternly, like he's some soldier trying to impress his superior, "I'll serve it to you."

"Make it quick."

Peter gulps and heads to brew the tea. Ned replaces him as the man behind the cashier.

It's tea. Nothing was easier than pouring hot water into a cup, letting the tea leaves steep, and serving it, right? For some reason, there are still ways to screw up even the basics. Perhaps it was a result of Peter's nervousness, the constant "Don't fuck up, don't fuck up, don't fuck up!" repeating over and over in his head, but as he's walking to MJ's table, his hip accidentally and painfully bangs on the sharp edge of one of the other tables.

Peter stumbles forward, losing balance and causing  _ some _ of the teacup's contents to spill over. 

"Ow,  _ fuck _ —" he hisses, a hand flying to the side that got hit. This causes even more tea to spill as the tray loses its equilibrium on his hand.

What was happening seemed to be lifted straight-up from a script. It was too theatrical—she can't believe this is even unfolding right in front of her.

Luckily, the tea doesn't spill on anyone but the tray and floor. Though now, Michelle gets only half of what she's paid for. Her eyes slowly roll back, a deep and long sigh being expelled from her. Her hand also raises to cover her face and she's just sitting there, wondering who the hell gave this man this job.

Oh, right—this is all Ned's fault.

MJ eyes Peter, a once-over that screamed scrutiny, "Are you serious right now?"

Peter doesn’t utter a word; in fact, he bites down on his tongue so hard to avoid himself from retorting. Instead, he frantically apologizes and goes back to brewing. The only upside this encounter has compared to the one yesterday was that it takes Peter half the time to prepare the tea.

From the corner of her eyes, Michelle spots Ned giving her an apologetic smile as he’s leaning against the rod of the mop. She rolls her eyes in response and jokingly flips Ned off, to which the male laughs silently.

Two days in a row. Michelle hopes the that the clichés are true and that third time would be a charm.

\- - - - -

Needless to say, the saying is a lie. Third time is no better than the first two. Michelle wonders if Peter’s intentionally screwing up just to spite her. And honestly? She wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case. Pissed to the highest extent, maybe. But not surprised in the slightest.

Today, Peter swaps Michelle’s order with another customer’s.

She had her drink to-go, and fortunately for Peter, she is already running late for her class. So, begrudgingly, MJ sucks it up and settles on having to drink an iced caramel macchiato instead of a green tea latte.

But if Peter ever thought that he could get away with ruining Michelle’s morning three days in a row, he was surely mistaken. Because once she get out of her classes, the first thing she does is return to the café.

She practically storms in, “Where the  _ hell _ is Peter?”

There’s about twelve other customers there—all of which turn to her in alarm. Michelle ignores them and makes a beeline for the cashier.

Peter keeps his head down, as if avoiding eye contact would help him not be spotted. It doesn’t work, obviously.

“How may I help you?” He responds monotonously, having difficulties even  _ faking  _ a smile at this point.

The look he’s giving her makes Michelle want to rip his face off.

“Get your shit together and start doing your job  _ properly _ . I’ve been here almost every day since my sophomore year and I’m now a senior, and I’ve never dealt with someone as incompetent as  _ you _ ,” she spat out, her words rolling out of her tongue like fire with intent to burn.

Peter feels the heat rush up to his cheeks. It was embarrassment and irritation for being called out in public. Sure, he hasn’t been the  _ best _ employee, but he also didn’t think he deserved to be humiliated like that.

The worst part is that he’s so accustomed to being pushed around, to tolerating people that he doesn’t bother retaliating. He  _ just  _ got this job; he didn’t want to lose it because he wasn’t able to keep his emotions at bay. 

So, he inhales deeply, gains the courage to meet Michelle’s furious eyes, and finally speaks in the most collected tone a man who’s just been confronted could, “Again, I apologize for the mix up. Like I said, I’m new. And I’m still trying to get around everything, so please just bear with me as I improve my service.”

Michelle is taken aback; she didn’t expect such an automated and calm response, “Is that it? Are you just going to keep apologizing every time you take too long, spill my drink, or switch it with another?”

“I’ll get better. I promise,” Peter’s voice softens.

Michelle stares at him for a couple of seconds, her expression is still pissed but she wasn’t about to lash out any time soon, “You better. I only gave you a second chance because Ned backed you up, but you screwed that one over too. Please—just, for the love of god—”

“I get it. It won’t happen again,” Peter assures her.

“You’re ruining this whole place for me,” she blatantly says.

He lets out a quick sigh. Really? She’s still coming for him?

“Look, if you want to get me fired, go ahead. Talk to the manager or whatever. This whole barista thing is new to me, and I desperately need this job so I can pay off student loans, so if you want to be the asshole that ruins that for me, then be my guest,” Peter raises his brows, fingers drumming the countertop as he gives her a sarcastic smile.

Michelle is about to retort, but a tap onto her shoulder distracts her.

“Excuse me, are you going to order or not?” A middle-aged lady, visibly impatient, asks.

Michelle’s eyes widen, not realizing the line that began to build up as she hogged Peter just to talk to him. She shakes her head, before promptly returning her attention to the barista who was now smugly smirking at her.

She frowns at him, but knows that she has other things—more  _ important _ things—to do at home.

“One last chance,” she tells him.

Peter nods down slowly, the smug look still on his face, “I got you.”

Michelle’s glare lingers as she steps aside. Then, she turns and heads out, not once looking back.


	2. Five Month's Worth

The latte she ordered has gotten cold. Its froth swirls slowly, the movement awaiting to be broken by a swig, but it never happens. 

Michelle arrived at the café early in the morning, wanting to be as productive as possible before classes start. Thankfully, it wasn’t Peter manning the food and beverages so everything goes smoothly. She would’ve enjoyed it, if only she wasn’t so exhausted. She also didn’t bother asking what happened to him.

He probably got fired, that’s what she thought. Three days on the job. She doesn’t even feel bad.

It took MJ about two hours to be satisfied with her productivity; she did some research, took down some notes, and emailed her professors about some points in their discussions. Once that was all done, she still had time to spare, so she decides to take a quick nap before her afternoon classes.

She should’ve set an alarm, because when she wakes up, the time was twenty minutes past 2 PM. She’s already twenty minutes late for class, and going to NYU would take another fifteen minutes.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she quickly stands, grabs her bag and hurls it over her shoulder. 

MJ bolts out of the café like she was being chased by dogs, abandoning the cold and barely consumed cup of latte. Her backpack bounces, but she couldn’t care any less for the discomfort. What she focuses on was running so she could catch the bus on time. 

It’s a miracle she does, with only a minute to spare before they stopped people from entering. Michelle is out of breath, but it’s all worth it to her.

“Hey, lady. Your bag’s open,” a boy tells her as she takes her seat.

“Huh?” Michelle glances at her backpack, and sees it unzipped and wide open, “Oh, thanks, kid.”

She moves her bag and places it onto her lap, carelessly scanning her things to make sure everything was still there. It seems to be the case, so she nonchalantly zips it closed.

It doesn’t take her much longer to arrive on campus, and she dashes to her class, even though there’s just about thirty minutes left. 

Still worth it. She’s not paying fifty thousand dollars a year to miss out more than what she already has.

And after that, the day goes by normally. She attends the rest of her classes until early evening, when she can finally go back to her apartment. By that time, she’s utterly exhausted, and she regrets not having her latte to-go.

Michelle ends up collapsing on the couch and taking a two-hour nap. When she wakes up, the time was already 9 PM.

Rubbing her cheek, she lets a soft groan escape her lips. She blinks slowly to rid herself of her hazy vision and lazily forces herself up. Her bag was carelessly tossed onto the dining table, and she sifts through it to look for her hard drive.

It takes her a minute, then two. She rummages through her entire bag but her hard drive isn’t there. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, and the absolute worst one, she begins to dump all of her bag’s contents onto the table: journal, pens, some art supplies, bobby pins, a pack of gum she forgot she had, but the hard drive was nowhere to be seen.

Then, she recalls that morning when the kid tells her that her bag was opened. She must have dropped it when she was running.

Michelle balls her first and rubs it across her forehead in panic, muttering a long trail of profanities. 

_Her entire fucking thesis is on that hard drive!_

She paces around her apartment for a few minutes, trying to keep herself from having a mental breakdown. MJ gnaws on her knuckles nervously, wondering where the hell she’s going to start looking for it until she decides— _fuck it._ She’s going to retrace her steps throughout the entire day.

Her frustration grows after each place she goes to. From the campus, to the exact sidewalk she passed, to where she took the bus. All to no avail, mostly because it was night and nobody cared about the hard drive—by the time she reaches the café, she’s on the verge of tears.

MJ can feel her head pounding, a result of her forcing the tears not to fall. She’s walking down the street when she sees an employee cleaning one of the tables outside. She jogs towards him.

“Excuse me!” Her lips quiver and her voice cracks. 

Peter looks up, and upon seeing Michelle, his face brightens and he gives her an amiable smile. 

_Odd._

He’s about to speak but MJ does it first. She does it quickly.

“Have you seen a black hard drive around here? I must have dropped it somewhere, I—I don’t know. My bag was opened, and it must have fallen from there,” MJ doesn’t even register that she’s talking to Peter. It must have been the fault of vision starting to blur from the tears forming.

Her tone is of utmost desperation. This was the last and only place it could’ve been or it’s gone forever, and that meant her thesis she’s been working on for five months.

 _God, MJ—why didn’t you back it up on your laptop? You_ **_dumbass_ ** _._

She’s mentally berating herself when Peter tells her to wait. He drops the rag cloth he’s holding and walks inside the café. MJ doesn’t wait, and she follows him inside. Her heartbeat quickens; she’s beyond nervous and hoping to all the gods that her hard drive was here. Her long nails dig into her palms as she anxiously waits. When all of a sudden—

“Michelle Jones?”

She turns, facing Peter who was now holding her hard drive. Just by looking at the mismatched wire, she immediately knew it was hers. A huge sigh of relief is heaved, and without even thinking, MJ rushes to Peter and gives him the tightest possible hug she could.

“Oh, fuck. _Thank god_. Thank you, thank you so fucking much.”

Peter is stunned motionless; he doesn’t reciprocate the hug because MJ’s grip is too tight for him to even move a muscle.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Peter chokes out.

Upon hearing his voice, Michelle is brought to her senses. She lets go, lightly shoves Peter on the shoulder, and steps back.

“Thanks,” she utters in slight embarrassment, rubbing the corner of her eye before crossing her arms, the hard drive wire peeks from under one arm. She doesn’t make eye contact when she asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I work here?” Peter replies.

MJ’s narrowed eyes finally focus on Peter, “I know, dumbass. I mean, it’s 11 PM. What are you still doing here?”

“Oh,” Peter laughs awkwardly, rubbing his nape, “I got transferred to the night shift. Bossman said that there’s less people at night. And if there’s less people, there’s less orders to screw up. So, congratulations, you kind of got your wish.”

“I wanted you fired, not transferred,” MJ responds dryly. She doesn’t mean it, “And, you’re wrong. I stay here at night too. I would’ve been here earlier if I didn’t have to pass by every place I went to this morning just to look for my hard drive.”

“Damn. Must be some important stuff you got there, then,” Peter turns, wiping down one of the tables. MJ takes a seat on the table next to it.

“If you count my thesis, then yes, I’ve got important stuff here.”

Peter’s mouth gapes open. His hand abruptly stops and he glances at Michelle with a horrified look, “Shit,” then, he recomposes. A playful smirk surfaces on his features, “It’s a good thing some incompetent, fuck-up of a barista found your hard drive.”

“Shut up,” MJ swings her leg and lightly kicks Peter’s ankle, “You ruined three of my mornings.”

“But how many days have I saved you by finding your hard drive?”

Michelle hesitates, keeping her arms crossed, “... Five months worth.”

“Five _months?_ Jesus, MJ. Learn to backup your files on your laptop.”

“Don’t call me that,” She says in annoyance, “And _I know.”_

At this point, Peter has given up on wiping down the tables. He’s probably stripped off the wood varnish because of how hard he was rubbing. So, he lets go of the cloth and leans against the table, looking at Michelle with crossed arms, “Isn’t that what it says on your hard drive? Michelle Jones. Open parenthesis, MJ, close parenthesis.”

“Only my friends call me MJ. Are we friends?” She smiles passive-aggressively, “Nope.”

“Well, why don’t we become friends?” He raises a brow. 

MJ scoffs, rolling her eyes. Peter gives her a confused look. And this is when Michelle realizes Peter isn’t joking.

“Seriously?” She scoffs again.

“I mean, why not? If we’re going to be seeing each other every day, why just not be at least acquainted with each other? Where do you study, anyway?” Peter asks. MJ stares blankly at him in response.

“Okay, fine,” he continues, raising his arms up in surrender, “I was just a—”

“NYU.” MJ nonchalantly replies, setting her hard drive down on the table. 

She figures that she’s going to be here for a little bit longer than she anticipated. If she had known Peter would keep her, she would’ve brought her laptop so she could do some research while the male’s words glossed over her mind.

“Fine Arts major, I’m assuming.” he says, to which MJ nods to.

“And you, Columbia, right? Ned told me you’re in the same Biology class. What do you take up?” MJ reclines on her seat, folding her arms as she raises a brow.

“Biomedical engineering.”

MJ’s smug look is replaced by disbelief, and both her eyebrows raise, “Biomedical engineering? _You_?” 

He frowns, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re studying biomedical engineering but you can’t even operate a coffee machine properly?” MJ laughs with an eye roll.

“I lived off tea my entire life, and on the rare occasion I do drink coffee, it’s instant,” he retorts defensively, “So I apologize if my proletariat way of living is a burden to yours.”

“God, you’re a fucking nerd,” she says.

“What? Everyone studied Karl Marx and the conflict theory in high school,” he responds, checking his watch afterwards.

Michelle sees him do so and she does the same. It’s almost midnight, and she’s still got classes early morning tomorrow. She didn’t want to miss it the way she did today. Her running late was the reason why she lost her hard drive in the first place. 

“I already hate you,” Michelle stands, reclaiming her hard drive, “I’m leaving.”

“Seriously? Did the talk about communism turn you off? Because—” Peter is cut off by MJ slapping his shoulder with her drive. Peter lets out an “ouch”, rubbing where she just hit him, “What the hell?” 

“Don’t be delusional. I have a 6 AM class,” she spares Peter more work and pushes in the chair herself, “How are you going to survive the night shift?”

“It's cool. All my classes are in the afternoon anyways. Why do you care?”

“I don't.” MJ turns to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?” 

She scrunches up her face, “Ugh. You’re making it sound like we’re sleeping together.”

Peter’s eyes widen, “You were the one _suggesting_ it!” He responds defensively.

“I was _not_ suggesting it,” she laughs.

“Fine, whatever _._ Bye, Michelle Jones.” 

“Bye, Peter whose last name I don’t know,” she pushes the glass door, about to head out.

Before she exits, he calls out, “It’s Parker!”

“I don’t care!”


	3. The Deal

Aside from an obviously drunk couple sloppily making out on one of the tables outside, Michelle is the only other customer. She sits quietly on her corner, earphones in, and eyes glued to her laptop as she's carefully studying artworks created by Francisco Goya, Zdzislaw Beksiński, Francis Bacon, and everything else grotesque and macabre.

Peter stands behind the counter, both his elbows propped on top of it and his head rests on his hands. He huffs as his eyes shift from Michelle, then to the drunk couple outside. And once he gets disgusted by the shameless and raunchy display of affection, he focuses on Michelle again.

“I can feel your eyes on me, Parker.”

“Sorry. There's just nothing better to  _ do _ ,” he huffs again, blowing away a loose curl sitting on his forehead.

MJ doesn't look up from her laptop, “So you’re gonna be a creep and stare at me the entire night?”

“And what if I do?” Peter straightens to his full height, raising a brow.

She finally takes her eyes off whatever she's reading, grabs an eraser laying on the table, and chucks it towards the direction of Peter; he easily dodges it, “Go annoy your co-workers instead of a paying customer. Where are they anyways?”

“At the back,” he shrugs, unbothered by the fact he's the only one doing his job, “Business has been slow since I got transferred to the night shift,” Peter jokes lightheartedly.

“I wonder why,” she says, closing her laptop and bringing out her journal from her bag. Peter observes her.

Silence befalls them. Michelle can still sense Peter’s gaze on her but she chooses to ignore it. The atmosphere around them is still for a couple of minutes, with MJ going over her bullet list of things to do, and Peter restlessly waiting for a customer to swing the glass door open; just give him something to do!

Out of boredom, he notices that the couple had disappeared. It's safe to assume they took off to either one of their place, leaving behind a mess of a table. 

At least he now has something to do. 

Peter makes his way to fetch a tray. While doing so, he spots the eraser that Michelle had previously threw towards him and picks it up, before heading outside to clean the spilled drinks and a half-eaten croissant. He makes a face, grumbling something about horny teenagers, before he heads back inside. 

Unbeknownst to Peter, Michelle was looking at him the entire time. Her loose strands of hair fall over her face, and when he approaches her, she tucks them behind her ear and clears her throat, fixing her attention back on her journal.

He passes her, and Michelle feels her arms involuntarily cover the sketch she's working on. She glances at Peter, noticing how he was now shamelessly peering over her shoulder.

“Ever heard of personal space?” She keeps her hands over her journal; he's making her feel self-conscious, but she mentally denies it.

“Here’s your eraser,” he says, setting it down in front of her.

“... Thanks,” Michelle takes it and stuffs it in her pencil case. 

MJ expects him to leave after that. To her surprise, he sets the tray down on the table adjacent to hers and pulls the chair across of her to take a seat. She shoots him a glare.

He ignores the way MJ’s looking at him; he'd rather be talking to someone that might or might not hate him than to stand behind the counter waiting hours for someone to come in.

“So, you’re an artist,” Peter awkwardly says, unable to find something better to start a conversation with.

“The way you say it makes it sound like it's a bad thing,” she promptly places her pen neatly beside the coffee cup.

“What?”

Michelle is still glaring at him, and she closes her journal, “Look, if you're here to make fun of my course and rub to my face how you’re a biomedtech student and are ‘taking up something actually useful in life’ then spare me the efforts and shove your own fist up your ass. Thanks.”

Peter’s countenance shifts to confusion as MJ spits out the accusation, and he's too taken aback to interrupt her midway, “No! Wh—Was I coming across as  _ that? _ Because if you're thinking I'm some kind of elitist who thinks only science and math courses matter, then you're wrong.”

It's only then that Michelle relaxes, feeling slightly guilty she presumed something so negative of him. She has also come to the realization that the reason why she was hiding her work was the fear of being judged. But after hearing Peter's side, Michelle finally stops glaring. Instead, she wears a sheepish look.

“I just—I get questioned a lot, you know? That's why—that's why I assumed you were one of those people. I'm sorry.”

“I get it, I totally do.”

“ _ Do you _ ?” She regains her stoic exterior.

He shrugs, “I mean, I'm not an artist or anything—”

“Then you don't really get it,” she tucks her art journal under her crossed arms, leaning against the surface of the table.

Peter is finding it hard to get along with her. It seems that being headstrong is one of her character traits. Weirdly enough, he finds it quite endearing. 

“No, I do. My aunt paints in her free time. It's always been a dream of hers to have a small art show,” Peter says, the thought tugging the corners of his lips into a gentle smile.

“So? Why doesn't she then?” Michelle asks, genuinely curious.

“Well, she doesn't think it's worth the time and money. Which sucks, because I know the reason why she's not pursuing it is because she's helping me pay off the remaining debts I have for college. That's why I studied my ass off to get a scholarship this year, and I also took on this job to help her in return,” Peter keeps his smile, not meeting MJ’s gaze as he fiddles with the edge of a clean tissue.

Michelle takes a few seconds to let his words sink in, and she immediately feels guilty for treating him like absolute shit for the past few days. Especially since all he wanted was to help his aunt turn her dream into reality. She was too harsh, too dismissive. She's about to apologize for it when Peter interjects with another notion.

“I admire artists. They work so hard and make so much sacrifices, but a lot of them are often overlooked. Honestly, I wish  _ I  _ had the skill,” he chuckles. MJ raises a brow.

Her fingers graze the edge of her journal; she hesitates for a while, before delicately opening it to the page she had been previously working on. A raw, unfiltered glimpse into the mind of Michelle Jones.

“Draw something for me,” she hands him a graphite pencil.

Peter looks down at her open journal, and a simple glance is enough to take his breath away. There are sketches done in charcoal, landscapes created with soft pastels, and scribbles of ‘things to do’ in blue and black ink. All the mediums amalgamate into one incredibly beautiful mess.

He prods back the eraser tip of the pencil with his index finger, “I’d rather not.”

“You don't think you have the skill? I'll be the judge of that,” she takes Peter’s hand and secures the pencil to him, “Come on. You get the privilege to be the first person to ever see,  _ and _ put anything on here. And probably the last.”

“Okay. That's definitely  _ not  _ pressuring in any way,” Peter’s pitch transposes a step higher.

“Go on, then. Draw anything. Like literally, whatever you want.”

“I don't want to ruin your journal with my ugly ass art.”

“Your words, Parker. It might be ugly, but it's still art.”

MJ reclines on her seat, raising a brow. There's no getting around her now, and she's set on seeing whatever Peter has to offer. Peter taps the eraser tip of the pencil against the corner of the journal, releasing a breath through his mouth.

“I can't do anything with you looking at me like that,” he complains.

Her lips playfully tug into a smirk, “Like what?” She says slowly, accentuating each word, as she leans to rest her elbow on her table; her chin rests comfortably atop her hand. 

Peter’s mouth gapes open, but no sound comes out of him. He stares at Michelle.

Then, she laughs, “You fucking horndog.”

“Just—don't look at me!” Being how pale he was, it's evident when Peter’s cheeks turn a shade of pink.

“Jesus, alright. Didn't have to get your panties in a twist,” she rolls her eyes, lightly chuckling.

MJ rests her back against the chair, opening her laptop and continuing her research on Beksiński. She doesn’t watch Peter, but she finds herself glancing every couple of minutes. It’s not hard to tell that Peter is focused from the way his face is just inches away from the paper; his brows are furrowed, and his hands make subtle strokes. Michelle can hear the sound of the graphite scratching against the page, and just by it, she knows he’s sketching. And, to be completely candid, it amuses her, because she thought he would have half-assed her request and drew some stick figures.

It takes a while, but Peter finally finishes.

“Okay, I’m done. Don’t judge,” he drops the pencil, placing his hand over what he just sketched when he hands the journal back to Michelle.

She swats his hands away after she takes it, but she’s still focused on her laptop, “Stop being dramatic. I’m sure it’s not bad as you make it out t—”

**_Holy shit._ **

When MJ finally looks at her journal, her mouth hangs open. Right on the top left right corner of the page is a pencilled portrait of a middle-aged man. It’s drawn messily, as if Peter was just shy away from lifting the tip of the pencil off the paper. But in a way, it comes across as a style preference. She shakes the thought away—she’s thinking too much into it.

After a lingering silence, she manages to speak, “Are you fucking kidding me, Parker?”

“I know! It’s ugly, I’m not like you—”

“Shut up. Are you serious right now? This is amazing,” she cracks her journal open wider, shoving it nearer to his face.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Peter rubs his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze away. 

“I’m being honest.”

“It’s really messy,” he retorts.

She can’t help but roll her eyes for what might be the hundredth time, “Oh, my fucking  _ god _ . Just take the compliment, you asshole.”

Peter smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “... Thank you.”

Michelle finds herself staring at him longer than usual, and when she notices, her eyes widen and she looks back at the sketch, “Did you just draw this randomly, or… ?”

“Actually, uh, this is my uncle. Well, at least I tried to make it out to be,” his smile now shifts to wistfulness, “My aunt likes to paint portraits of him so—um—so that she’ll never forget his face. I guess I just see her portraits so often that I kind of… Memorized how she draws him.”

“I’m sorry,” MJ says, immediately understanding what he means. 

Peter doesn’t know how to respond. Does he say  _ ‘It’s okay’ _ , or  _ ‘You don’t have to apologize?’. _ He normally didn’t find himself bringing up the topic of his uncle, and if he did, May was always there to do majority of the talking. Instead of verbally responding, he nods his head downwards, sending Michelle a small smile. Maybe that was enough.

And for her, it was.

She smiles in return, her fingers tracing the etchings on the page; the way Peter drew his uncle’s eyes makes him seem like the kindest man on the entirety of Earth. The wisest too.

A minute passes. Peter quietly observes MJ as she continues to study the sketch, until she looks up and finally severs the stillness between them, “Let’s have a deal.”

“What?” Peter asks. He wasn’t expecting her to say that.

“A deal—” MJ repeats, “Or rather, a challenge. For the both of us. You have to draw on the paper cups or bags you give me. All of them. You can choose whatever you want to draw, but you have to give me something by the end of the night. Then, I’ll color in whatever you outline and show it to you the next night. How does that sound?”

“Interesting,” he responds, dragging the word out, “Just one question though—why?”

“You said you  _ wished  _ you had the skill of an artist. You do. But art isn’t just something you develop overnight. You get where I’m going with this?” MJ says, raising a brow. Peter nods, “So, what do you say? Deal?”

Peter purses his lips and reclines on his seat. He tilts his head as he’s seemingly thinking about it. Then, he nods firmly, “Deal.”

They exchange a smile, and the soft acoustic melody coming from the coffee shop speakers makes up for their silence.


	4. Two Nights Gone

On the first night of their deal, he gives her a cup with a small outline of a rose. Just by the style alone, MJ can tell he copied straight from Tumblr.

“What did you Google? ‘Rose drawing aesthetic easy’?” She quips with a chuckle, eyeing the outline, “I’ve seen these rose designs on those ‘Hipster Room Decor DIYs’ like, a thousand times.”

“You _actually_ watch those?” Peter responds, eyes trailing down to the coffee cup, “And relax, I told you I wasn’t an artist.”

“Not with this tiny-ass rose you aren’t,” she says, completely ignoring his initial question. She’s not responding to that.

MJ steps aside once she sees another customer behind her, and she moves towards the area where the drinks are served, resting her crossed arms on the table and placing the paper cup in front of her. 

She watches him as he punches in the order of the customer, a slight smirk on her features. And she expects him to fumble, but to her surprise, he doesn’t. Once Peter finishes making the drink, he walks over to where Michelle is and calls out the name.

She bites back her smile, “Dweeb.”

“Shut up, this is my job. And _dweeb_ , seriously? Who still says that?” He says to her. The customer arrives a few seconds later and Peter hands over the drink, looking back at MJ afterwards.

“I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise,” he gestures to the drawing on Michelle’s cup.

“Like you promised you’re gonna get my drink right this time around?” She smirks cockily.

Peter raises a brow, mimicking MJ’s cockiness and moving to lean on the countertop so that he’s face-to-face with her, “And did I keep my promise?”

She pauses for a beat before taking a sip of her coffee, rolling her eyes, “... You did.”

Peter pumps his fist as if it was a great achievement, “Aren’t you glad?” 

“You’re such a dork,” she begins, feigning annoyance, “I am, actually. It’s like seeing a baby walk for the first time. Or a dead man being brought back to life because it’s a fucking miracle.”

“I’m gonna tell Ned you said that. He won’t believe me,” Peter leans against the workstation table and crosses his arms, “I kind of really miss being in the same shift as him.”

MJ doesn’t respond. She’s too focused silently studying Peter’s face, and how–in that moment–this 22 year-old boy in front of her managed to look like a pouting child. It’s like she wanted to walk over to him and just coo, tell him in the most gentle way possible that it’s all fine and—

_Seriously, MJ?_

“Aren’t you gonna take a seat?” Peter interupts her thoughts, and she realizes just how ridiculous what she was thinking about is.

“No, actually. I’ve got some things to work on at home,” MJ takes her cup and stands upright, “Just stopping by for a drink and our deal.”

He nods, “Good luck with your thesis.”

“Thanks,” she replies and then gestures to the rose drawing once more, “I’m expecting something better than this tomorrow.”

Peter raises his right hand, “I said I promised.”

Michelle gives him a skeptical look, but she doesn’t actually doubt him. She turns to leave, not without glancing at Peter one last time as she reaches the door, “You know, you aren’t as bad as I thought you were.”

He laughs. The kind of laugh where he doesn’t know how else to react to what she had just said, “I might have to say the same thing for yourself.”

She doesn’t realize it, but MJ involuntarily bites her lip to prevent the smile threatening to adorn her features. She scoffs and rolls her eyes before heading out.

  
\- - - - -

It’s been about a week and a half since they had agreed to their mini challenge. From the basic rose that Peter first drew, he kept his promise and stepped up his game. Michelle appreciated that he was taking it seriously, and she did too. In fact, she takes fifteen minutes off her normal work just to very meticulously shade Peter’s outlines. She even uses her alcohol-based markers—she was _that_ serious about it.

Michelle looks forward each night to handing Peter the final product. His eyes would light up, as if Michelle had transformed his doodle to an art gallery piece that mysteriously made its way into his hands.

Everytime. Not once does he not react that way.

And Peter, for the past three consecutive nights straight, gives MJ outlines of _Star Wars_ characters. The first one being Darth Vader, then Chewie, then Princess Leia. Despite the drawings being cartoonish, MJ notices the intricate details Peter had given them.

She’s comfortably resting on her bed, hair messily tied, and she’s got her earphones on when she colours in Leia Organa’s braided buns with her Copic Marker. Her foot taps against the mattress to the beat of her music and she hums along.

In a way, it serves as her stress-reliever. MJ doesn’t have to think about surrealism, or expressionism or all that art talk—with this, she doesn’t have to worry if she messes up, or if it ends up not looking good, because no matter what, Peter always loves the outcome.

The next night, she excitedly enters the café to give Peter the old yet cleaned paper cup. She’s also looking forward to see what he’s got in store for her. But instead of being greeted by Peter on the cashier, she spots Ned instead.

“Hey,” she says with a look of confusion, “Weren’t you just working the morning shift? Where’s Peter?”

“He called in sick. Asked me to cover his shift,” Ned replies as if he had no other choice. His next sentence explains his face, “I owe him since he helped me with Bio, and also I have no classes tomorrow so I can sleep in.”

“Oh,” the slight disappointment is evident in MJ’s voice, but it’s not like she _didn’t_ want to see Ned. It’s just—she might have been a little _too_ excited to show Peter Princess Leia, “Okay. Uh, I’ll be getting a Danish.”

Ned blinks at Michelle for a few seconds, before he scans the cup she’s holding. She notices where his eyes are focused and she quickly hides it behind her back.

“Hold up,” Ned suddenly says and MJ’s heart begins to race, “Did I just— _Was that Princess Leia?_ ”

“What? This?” She brings it back in front of her, setting it down on the countertop with the doodle facing Ned, “Yeah, I just got bored at home and decided to draw her. Just for fun.”

She nonchalantly shrugs, and Ned picks up the cup, “ _Cool,_ ” he says like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. He’s too astonished to even ask MJ why she even brought it back here, to which she is _beyond_ thankful for. 

But then—

“ _Yo_. Not to, like, offend you in any way, shape or form but—” Ned hesitates, looking at Leia for another five seconds before back to Michelle. She raises a brow, and Ned’s eyes widen. “Actually, never mind.”

“No. Finish what you started, Ned,” she says. Ned gulps.

“Promise me you won’t kill me,” Ned nervously replies, and MJ wonders what in the world he has to say that would warrant her to _promise_ not to kill him?

She crosses her arms, a look of confused interest donning her features. She’s nervously anticipating what Ned is holding back to say. It could be _anything._ Did he think it sucked? Was her coloring off? 

“Dude, just say what you have to say,” she was frank, but she was concealing her nervousness.

“Okay,” he sighs, and the next sentence comes out in one breath, “I know you totally despise him and wouldn’t want to be compared to him but it’s scarily similar the way you and Peter draw Princess Leia. Like, not even similar. It’s _exactly_ the same.”

In that instance, Michelle’s nervousness dies down and she questions why she even considered Ned criticizing her a possible thing he’d do. She knows he _loves_ her work. He wouldn’t shut up about it. 

Then, it completely registers in her mind what Ned says and the nervousness is replaced with panic.

“Maybe—maybe we copied from the same source material?” MJ answers like she has absolutely no clue.

“ _Okay…_ ” Ned slowly nods. Michelle can tell from his face that he wasn’t buying any of it.

“What? I’m telling the truth!” She defensively says, picking up the paper cup and hiding it behind her back again.

“You know, I was going to let you pass but the way you just said that makes me take it back. What’s _really_ going on?” Ned knowingly wriggles his brows, stepping away to get a Danish from the top of display fridge.

“Going on with what?” She frowns in attempt to scare off Ned from prying, but it doesn’t work. This is one of the rare occasions.

“I don’t know, MJ. You tell me,” Ned slyly smirks, handing MJ the Danish. But when she reaches for it, he moves his hand away.

“This is stupid,” she says, trying to grab her pastry from Ned but he moves too quickly, “Ned, _seriously_?”

Ned steps back so that Michelle _definitely_ cannot reach for the Danish. MJ looks at it longingly, and she comes to the conclusion that the pastry was worth spilling the tea to Ned. She sighs.

“You were right; Peter Parker isn’t the bane of my existence and he’s an actual decent human being,” she defeatedly admits in a whisper.

Ned pauses to smugly look at her before tossing the Danish. Michelle catches it with ease. Then, he finally speaks up, “I don’t wanna be that person but—”

“Please don’t say it—”

_“I told you so.”_

MJ groans, “See this? _This_ is why I wasn’t on planning on telling you anything.”

“You haven’t even told me _anything,”_ Ned face shifts to mischief and interest, “One week without watching over Peter and you two become a thing. Maybe I should transfer to the night sh—”

“ _What!?_ Ew, no! We are _not_ a thing,” MJ scrunches her face up.

“And I’m supposed to believe you just because you didn’t use a contraction?” Ned raises a brow in skepticism, crossing his arms.

“God, you’re _both_ nerds,” she groans, “We have a deal, okay? Peter said he sucked at art or whatever, and we have this deal where he’d draw something for me and I get to colour whatever he makes.”

She brings back the cup to Ned’s peripheral vision, showing him Leia Organa once again, “See? That’s why it looked so familiar to you. _He_ drew this, not me.”

“You’re working on art _together_?” Ned teasingly sighs in a dreamy manner, “That’s even more romantic.”

MJ simultaneously closes her eyes and bites down on her lip. She balls her empty fist and rubs it across her forehead, sighing, “... _Ned_.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he chuckles, raising his hands up in surrender, “... But seriously, though? Peter’s a really cool dude. I can vouch for him.” 

“I appreciate it, but I’m not really interested,” MJ responds as she turns to head towards her usual table. It’s a slow night once again, and aside from her, there’s another student she recognizes studying on the table outside. The café is technically hers for the night—at least, she hopes.

“Why not?” Ned asks, still leaning over the countertop.

“Because, I’m not,” she says and takes a big bite of the Danish.

“That’s not a reason,” he keeps pushing for an answer. A _real_ one.

“Do I have to have a reason? I just don’t like him that way. Plain and simple. There’s really nothing much to it,” she stuffs some more of the pastry in her mouth.

“Not interested in guys?” Ned asks. Michelle drops her hands to the table and looks at him, and he shrugs.

“It’s not that,” she replies after her mouth is empty.

Ned pauses for a beat, “Bisexual, then?” 

MJ doesn’t respond; instead, she finishes off the Danish by shoving the rest of it in her mouth. And as she’s chewing, she stares at the creation she and Peter collaborated on and thinks about what Ned had told her. It’s not like she _liked_ Peter in that way—god no. But why was she being so defensive?

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways; I don’t have time for a relationship,” she finally says, and then silently mutters her next words, “Not like anyone wants me anyways.”

“Oh, right. Because who needs a significant other when you’ve got your thesis to do?” He shrugs with a teasing smile. She’s thankful he doesn’t hear her second statement.

MJ gives Ned a look as if he’s already supposed to know. And, he does know, “Exactly. Getting on that honors list is the one thing that can shut my parents up.”

“Oof,” he grimaces, “they still going on about it?”

“When will they not?” MJ sighs defeatedly and leans back on her seat, “They keep telling me to shift and go into law.”

“Not gonna lie, I can see why they think so,” Ned shrugs again.

She snaps her head towards Ned, furrowing her brows. Then, without warning, she hurls the empty paper cup towards him. And the momentum of the throw is enough to make the cup hit him in the chest. 

If there’s one thing Michelle hates more than anything, it’s when people start questioning her college course. But, the two of them are close enough and she knows Ned only said that to annoy her. She’s not actually pissed.

Ned laughs once the cup bounces off him, picking it up after it lands on the floor. He sets it down on the countertop, Leia facing MJ, “Never mind. Physical aggression isn’t a good look on a lawyer.”

MJ scoffs in response, standing up, “Good. Anyway, I have to go. I have to be up early.”

She picks up the trash on her table and returns it to Ned so he wouldn’t have any more work to do. He’s not even _supposed_ to be working.

“Thanks,” he takes the plate from her, “See you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, you’re still clocking in tomorrow morning?” MJ questions with a concerned raise of the brow.

“I guess,” he shrugs.

“Damn, you really need to get that raise,” she says, already beginning to head out. Ned takes the paper cup that was previously thrown at him.

“Hold up, don’t forget this,” he outstretches his arm, handing it to her.

“That’s for Peter. Give it to him when you see him,” she prods it back to Ned with her index finger, “And tell him he owes me two of those now.”

“Oh, okay. I’m stopping by tomorrow to check up on him. Give him my bio notes and all,” Ned mischievously smirks, “ I’ll tell him that you miss him.”

“Tell him that and I swear to god I will break your arm,” she threatens, eyes narrowing.

“Jesus Christ, you’re terrifying,” Ned widens his eyes, and she smiles at him innocently.

“Bye, loser. See you tomorrow.”

“You mean _later._ ”

“What?” MJ checks her watch and sees it’s a couple of minutes past 1 AM. She’s got less five hours of sleep if she wants to make it to her class on time, “Ah, shit.”

  
  
\- - - - -

Another day passes and at this point, Ned is overworked and rocking eyebags. Michelle feels sorry for him, especially when the manager caught him falling asleep while mopping the floors earlier this morning.

She already expects to see him again when she comes back, but to her surprise, Peter is the one standing behind the counter when she enters. 

“And he lives.”

“Well, hello to you too,” Peter greets with a tired smile, as if he was the one who took over both morning and night shifts for two days.

Michelle walks to her table and drops her tote bag on the mahogany chair, “Ned suffered because of you.”

“To which I will make up to him,” Peter has this look on his face and MJ interprets it as guilt.

She walks towards him, fingers absentmindedly playing with the zipper of her wallet as she stares at the menu, “And also, you now owe me two sketches.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter hesitates saying the next words, but when he does, he does it with a smug smirk. All or nothing, “I also heard that you missed me?”

MJ’s attention snaps to him, “That bitch—” 

“I’m joking!” He exclaims, “Don’t break his arm.”

“He _told_ you that?” MJ feigns offense and irritation, but only to tease Peter. She likes seeing him squirm in panic.

“Oh, god. I’m going to shut up now. For Ned’s sake.”

She sarcastically eyes Peter, then pauses for intentional suspense. Peter anxiously waits, until MJ finally repeats, “For Ned’s sake.”

She notices him release a heavy breath, visibly relieved. She can’t help but smirk.

“An apple crumble pie and brewed coffee,” she changes the subject to relieve Peter from the tension, handing her payment in exact. As always.

“Coffee? At this hour?” He asks as he punches in her order, waiting for the receipt to print out.

“I forgot I had this paper due tomorrow, and I’ve barely even started with it.” MJ sighs, a hand flies up to rub her temple. She already has a journal for the sole purpose of making sure she’s got everything done, and the fact that she missed out on an important deadline unsettles and annoys her, “And seriously? We live in New York and you _still_ question people buying coffee this late?”

“So, does that mean you’re not staying?” He rips the receipt once it’s done printing, reaching out to hand it to her but not entirely. His hand was hovering right above hers.

“Aw, you want me to, Parker?” She grins, wriggling her brows.

“Yes—I mean, no. _What?_ ” He stammers, practically shoving the piece of paper into her hand.

“So, you don’t want me around?” She changes her expression, feigning offense by pouting. 

“Stop. You’re putting words in my mouth!” Peter replies. MJ can tell that he was getting nervous again, so she chuckles and bites her bottom lip to prevent herself from laughing even harder. She’ll spare him from the breakdown. Maybe some other time—she’s also finding teasing him to be a pleasurable task she might indulge in more.

“Hurry up. Oh! And don’t forget what you owe me,” she calls out when he turns to make her coffee, and MJ walks back to her table.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off, his back turned against her.

As much as she’d like to stay and bully Peter for the rest of the night, she’s got her one-thousand word essay due in approximately twelve hours. It might seem like a lot of time, but with how much of a procrastinator she is? That’s barely enough time to conceptualize.

“So, how have you been?” he suddenly says, turning back as the coffee began to brew. MJ immediately diverts her eyes to the pastry display glass and away from Peter.

“Fine,” she replies in a heartbeat, her own accelerating at the thought of Peter catching her staring, “just attended classes, then did thesis work at home. The usual. You? Did you get hit by the flu?”

Peter nods, “November isn’t my favorite month. Flu season sucks. But I’m better now.”

“You better be. I’m suing you if I get the flu. I can’t afford to get sick at this time,” she means it, maybe except the part about the suing.

“I got cleared by my doctor, so it’s all good,” he leans against the workstation table as he waits for the machine to finish brewing, “Swear to god.”

“You still look like shit, though,” she comments, a sly smirk adorning her face.

“Thanks for noticing,” he reaches for the paper cup he’ll be using to put MJ’s coffee in later and grabs a pen afterwards, beginning to scribble something down onto the former, “Getting some sleep is a chore when you’ve got a pounding headache. Anyway—enough about me. So, what’s this paper you have to write about?”

“Just some case study about Neoclassicism art. I don’t want to bore you with—” She’s about to wave him off, but suddenly, Peter looks up.

“No, no, tell me. I’m interested,” he nods, smiling like a child. Michelle stares at him as if he’s joking and she doesn’t believe him.

“Are you just saying this to make me feel better about myself?” She quips, but there is a hint of seriousness laced in her tone, deeply concealed by her raging skepticism towards Peter’s _genuine_ interest.

“Of course not, I _really_ am interested! And it seems like you want to talk about it, so I want to listen.” He brings the capped tip of the pen to tap against his chin like he’s thinking, “Hm— _neoclassicism._ Like… Jacques-Louis David. The Death of Socrates?”

MJ quirks a brow up, her lips parting slightly as she can’t believe those words just came from Peter. Unbeknownst to her, she suddenly becomes giddy, “Yes, exactly! Wait, how do you know?”

“I look into it when I have the time. It doesn’t take an artist to understand art.” He smiles and then shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s a big deal to MJ. _The Death of Socrates_ is one of her favorite pieces, and she can’t believe that that’s the first thing he mentions after having neoclassicism as the umbrella topic.

She’s about to reply, ask him if what he just said was a clapback to one of their earlier conversations where she told him that he doesn’t get it because he’s not an artist (it’s totally justifiable, she’s not gonna lie), but the beeping of the coffee machine stops her from doing so. It surprises her, as well as Peter who jumps a bit and _almost_ drops the cup. He rushes to turn it off and then proceeds to finish everything up, to which Michelle is no longer paying attention. Instead, she’s already beginning her research for the case study. 

“It’s done,” Peter says once everything is bagged neatly. He places it in front of him on the countertop.

MJ shoves her phone in her back pocket, stands, and gathers all of her things, walking over to get the paper bag. She takes a peek to make sure everything’s there, “Good.”

“I hope you like what I made for you,” he wraps the bag after Michelle had opened it. Their fingers shyly graze against one another when he hands it to her, and she pretends not to notice. She can tell he’s doing the same thing, which makes it even more awkward.

“It better make up for the nights you weren’t here,” she says, unaware of how she sounded like she actually missed him. God, she has to find a way to better control the tone of her voice.

“You’ll find out soon,” Peter smiles and she immediately senses something… Suspicious.

“If it’s Jabba the Hutt, I swear to—” Michelle is interrupted by Peter’s laugh.

“It’s not Star Wars related anymore,” he reassures. She’s still _highly_ suspicious, and also a weird mix between excited and anxious. Then, she questions why she’s being so worked up about this and sighs.

“Well, then I guess I’ll see it when I get home,” she says with finality, giving him a small smile.

“Enjoy your night,” Peter awkwardly waves. She scoffs at him as she’s walking away.

“You too. With cleaning up drunk peoples’ tables again.” At this point, Michelle’s hand is already curled around the glass door’s handle, with her glancing back at him, teasingly grinning.

“You’d think they’d stop for _one_ second and consider the guy who has to mop up their mess,” he sighs in exasperation, “Unbelievable.”

She laughs in response, “Bye. See you tomorrow.”

The commute home was about ten minutes, as it usually is. When she arrives in front of her apartment, Michelle fishes for the key in her bag and quickly unlocks her door. She steps inside, immediately kicking off her sneakers—carefully so as to not accidentally destroy the unfinished canvas on her floor—and dropping her bag on the dining table.

She doesn’t know where the overwhelming excitement is coming from, but MJ spares no second of hesitation before she opens up the bag and pulls out the contents of it. Turning the cup all the way around, Michelle was both confused and disappointed when she sees a half-assed smiley face drawn onto the side of it.

“What the hell—” She mutters, rotating it one more time just in the unlikely case she must have missed it, and her confusion turns into annoyance when she’s sure that that was the only thing on there.

Michelle huffs. She doesn’t even know why she’s making such a big deal over something so silly, but she can’t help feel disappointed, because she and Peter had a deal, and Peter promised her something special.

Anyway—she doesn’t have the time to be dramatic since she’s got a deadline due soon. So, she walks to her backpack and pulls out her laptop, setting it down on top of the dining table and opening it up. She also opens up her apple crumble pie and proceeds to slowly eat it as she’d doing her research.

A couple of hours pass and Michelle’s desk is scattered with papers of handwritten notes, highlighters, her finished cup of coffee, and a half-eaten pie. It’s a miracle, but she’s able to finish half of the paper already. And as she’s looking for some more inspiration, she finds her gaze fixated on the smiley face on the paper cup, her head resting on her propped hand.

She feels this sense of frustration every time she sees it, like looking forward to something for so long and then not having expectations met. It sucks, and she diverts her eyes onto the apple crumble pie.

Just then, she notices a folded slip of paper wedged between the take out box and the table. MJ furrows her brows, reaching a hand out to pull the paper out. It must have been an important note she forgot about, because in all honesty, she’s too tired to remember minute details.

Michelle unfolds the paper, expecting some of her messy scribbles, but her exhaustion is completely eradicated once she sees what it actually contains. Her lips part, and she mutters an “oh my god” in startlement.

It’s a sketch of her sitting in the table at the café. She’s looking down, focused on whatever it is she’s doing on her art journal, and her curls are messily tucked behind her ear. Michelle is framed by the New York metropolis behind the window, and despite the busy buildings behind her, she’s the main focal point of the entire thing.

With the way he’d drawn her with unkempt hair and denim jacket, she can remember the particular day this was made. She was having a horrible day that day, but none of that was manifested in the sketch as Peter drew her to look calm, like how the steam rising from her cup of coffee was enough to keep her content. She notices the small smile Peter had placed on her, and it causes her to smile as well.

Michelle had never done self-portraits of herself because she never thought that she’s interesting or beautiful enough, but the more she studies this sketch version of herself, she slowly starts to think… She kind of looks _pretty?_

At least, in the way Peter made her out to be.

She flips the paper around, seeing the faint pencil markings showing through from the back, and she reads what it says: 

_You’re always so still when you work on something on your journal. I tried sketching you while you were in the coffee shop, but you left before I got to finish it. So, I did my best to finish the rest at home._

_I hope this makes up for the days I was gone._

Her fingers caress the indentations on the piece of paper, over Peter’s written words, and then under to where the sketch is. Michelle’s smile unconsciously grows wider, and that’s when she catches herself and bites down on her lip. God, she can’t help but feel like she’s back in elementary school when kids would pass corny notes back and forth to each other. The thought causes her to scoff and roll her eyes.

But then she combs her fingers through her hair and looks at the sketch one more time—or rather, she meticulously studies it this time. What once was a delightful surprise is beginning to turn into something else. She doesn’t want to admit it for fear of sounding petty, but she’s frustrated that this boy who has the _audacity_ to say that he’s not good at art surprise her with something like _this._ If he–for one instance–tells her that it’s not good, she swears to god she will—

Michelle narrows her eyes, stares at it for another minute or two, and then promptly gets up to frantically search for her art journal in her bag. There’s this strange new energy causing her to get so worked up about it. Now she’s flustered and restless and _annoyed_ that Peter managed to catch her off guard. It’s embarrassing to her, and she can’t explain why.

And as all these thoughts are circling inside her mind, her hands are moving quickly, and the balls of her feet bounce against the floor in the same tempo. She curses the coffee for her heart palpitations.

The graphite strikes against the leave of her journal messily and the scratchy sound is like music to her ears. An hour or so later, she’s done. She reclines against her seat with a heavy huff and carelessly tosses her pencil on top on the notebook. 

On its page, is MJ’s retaliation for Peter—this time, it’s him who’s on the page. Fueled by a heated annoyance rather than a gentle muse, it can be seen in the way her strokes are rigid and rough. It’s a stark contrast to Peter’s mellows sketch.

But, _how?_ How can something done so hastily be so... _Pristine?_

His cheek is squished by his knuckles, and his elbow is propped against the countertop. His gaze is pointed towards something MJ no longer decided to add in, but it’s evident that he has a slight smile. As if he’s watching something interesting, yet barely even paying attention.

Peter’s hair is unkempt, as if he’d just awakened from a nap, but MJ knows that it’s because he’s been ruffling his curls just to keep him from falling asleep in his shift.

And that’s when it hits her—she managed to create a portrait in an hour. What’s even more surprising is that she draws him by complete memory. She closes her eyes and remembers exactly how Peter looked like that one night. Bored out of his mind, yet all the while, sanguine.

She remembers him softly humming along to the music, bopping his head gently as his brown curls bounce along. She had been looking at him for a couple of minutes by then, unknowingly so. MJ doesn’t even register that she had gotten Peter’s attention until he smiled at her.

Her eyes widened when he did, and she quickly broke free from their shared glaze and diverted her attention back to her laptop.

Even the recollection of it flusters her, then she remembers what Ned told her.

No, she’s not—She refuses to think about it. But what sucks is that he embedded the _idea_ of her and Peter being a _thing_ and now she can’t stop thinking about it. 

_God fucking damn it, Ned Leeds._

MJ swallows thickly, in complete denial of the pounding of her heart and the realization that the only reason why she’d been able to draw Peter Parker completely by memory was because she can’t keep her eyes off him.


	5. Art and Alcohol

“This is beautiful, Michelle. I’m—” He can’t even speak, the gestures of his hands encapsulating his inability to find the right words to describe what she had done, “I don’t know what to say—this is _amazing._ You’re amazing, and talented, and…” 

Peter is on the verge of tears. Michelle can’t believe what she’s seeing. She notices him carefully roll the sketch she had made of him, and she realizes that she has never seen anyone admire her work the way Peter was doing, and for once, _for once_ in her life did she actually feel appreciated. 

She doesn’t even notice that she tuned out and he was _still_ talking.

“... Thank you, MJ,” Peter says, then excuses himself to go to the back to secure the piece of paper in his backpack.

Michelle watches him as he walks, feeling her sheepish smile widen and allowing it to do so. A customer walks in and lines up behind her so she steps aside to the claiming area while she waits for him to return and accommodate the customer. Her fingertips tap against the countertop, as if thinking of what to say.

“Um, would you maybe want to go shop for art supplies with me sometime? I don’t know, if you’re down or whatever,” she asks, making a mental note to make sure she sounded like she didn’t care much.

“Really?” he responds with enthusiasm as he shoots her a quick glance, still in the process of making a cup of iced coffee.

“Mhm. I just figured, you’re always so bored every time you’re stuck here so maybe we can do something interesting before your shift. Besides, I really need to get some new materials,” MJ steps aside when the customer takes her previous place, and Peter walks towards the claiming area to give the iced coffee to the man.

Once he leaves, Peter turns his attention back to MJ, “I’d be honored to go.”

She gives him the faintest smile, barely even visible, “Great. Tomorrow then, meet me here at around 5pm?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

\- - - - -

There is an art supply store just a couple of minutes away from the café, and it doesn’t take them long to get there. As an art major, she should be frequenting the place, but because she’s such an impulsive buyer, Michelle decides that it’s best to go there when she needs to and when she has the money to afford whatever she wanted to get.

On the other hand, Peter looks like a kid in a candy shop, his head turning from one direction to another.

“Oh, man, look at all these colored pencils. All I knew was a box of Crayolas when I was in elementary and I only had the pack of 24.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, letting him be while examining the aisle of sketchbooks, “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to an art store before.”

“Does the arts and crafts aisle in Target count?”

“Seriously? Not even Michael’s? Hobby Lobby?”

“I mean, only when my aunt May goes, but even then I just wait for her outside,” Peter shrugs, but is then distracted by a pack of gold leaf sheets, “Is this _real gold?”_

“Yes,” MJ is both amused and slightly annoyed, but she’s happy to see someone other than a kindergartener excited about Faber-Castell pencils. It makes her wish the smallest things mattered to her more as it did to Peter.

Suddenly, the glass display on the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she tugged Peter and motioned to follow her.

“Look,” she says, staring at the expensive pencil set securely placed in the glass case, “that set is $200, and that’s not even the full set—that one goes for about $600.”

“$600? Is it even any good?” he asks with skepticism.

“One of my professors let me try it out and my life has changed ever since. God, if only I could get my hands on them again—” she realizes she hasn’t taken her eyes off the set, then turns towards Peter, “I’m such a nerd, sorry. It’s weird to be so obsessed over art materials.”

“No! Not at all, you’re an artist after all, so I totally get it,” he replies with a small laugh.

“Yeah, well, maybe someday. But for now, I need to get this sketchbook and some paint.”

The entire time in the store, he’d ask her more questions about what that was, what was it for, how do you use it, and so much more. MJ would reply without hesitation, explaining in full detail how certain tools were used and even mentioning artists who had used the same tools and techniques, and Peter listened with genuine interest. 

“Won’t your shift start in a few?” MJ checks her watch after receiving the receipt from the cashier.

“You’ve got my schedule memorized already?” he teases, sporting a smirk.

“Obviously, dumbass, you’ve been working there for a month already so of course I’d know what time you’d come it. I’m always there, remember?” she replies defensively, feeling the heat rush up her cheeks.

“Well, then you should know that it’s Saturday and I don’t come into work during Saturdays,” Peter calmly says, reaching a hand out to help Michelle carry her newly bought art materials.

Instead, she opens her sling bag and shoves the sketchpad and the tubes of paint as much as she can, mumbling into slight embarrassment, “Oh, must have slipped my mind then.”

Silence envelops them, and usually Michelle doesn’t mind it, _prefers_ it actually, but this time was different, and she was racing to fill that silence.

“Do you want to get some drinks?” She blurts out, walking out of the art shop.

“At this time? It’s like 7pm.” 

MJ raises a brow, “So, you’ve never drank out earlier than 7pm?” 

Peter purses his lips in response, “Fair point.”

Luckily, there was a bar just two blocks away. MJ gets in easy, but Peter was carded. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“ _Everytime,”_ he sighs. Michelle laughs again.

They head to the bar. She knows it wouldn’t be too crowded since it was just 7pm. This place was something the frequented in her sophomore year, back when fake IDs were her best friends.

 _Good to see some familiar faces,_ she thought.

“One screwdriver for me and an orange juice for the minor,” MJ teases, smirking at Peter as she ordered.

The bartender eyes Peter, and the latter gets immediately flustered, “No—I’ll get what she’s having. I’m not a minor, I just look like one. Look,” and he frantically shows the bartender his ID.

Michelles laughs at how flustered Peter was. She notices she’s been laughing more than usual, and once the thought comes up, she immediately forces herself to keep a calmer composure. Back to normal.

“So, Peter Parker,” she starts, shifting her attention from the shelf of alcohol to the boy sitting beside her, “I’ve been a little bit selfish. I’ve realized I barely know anything about you aside from you being a biotech student, Ned’s friend, and a lowkey art enthusiast.”

“Well, that’s me,” Peter shrugs, then thanks the bartender when he returns with the drinks. MJ does the same.

“That can’t just be you. Tell me more,” she sips on her drink, maintaining eye contact.

He shifts, turning his body towards Michelle and then patting his hand onto his knee as he thinks.

“You mentioned your aunt before, with the gallery and stuff, right? What’s she like?”

“Oh, aunt May?” Peter smiles as he says her name, “She’s one of the most hardworking people I know. I hope she gets to open that gallery, and I hope I can help her with that.”

Listening to him talk made MJ realize that she never had anyone that truly mattered to her, no one worthy of her talking about the way Peter talks about his aunt, “I hope so too.”

“It’s the least I can do, you know? She’s always cheering me on and ever since Ben died, all we have is each other.”

She smiles sadly, knowing maybe she shouldn’t ask but the alcohol in her system makes her, “Your parents?”

The question is vague, but simple. Peter shakes his head and replies, “Plane crash.”

“Oh.”

There’s a sudden heavy atmosphere around them, and MJ hates it so she takes a long swig from her cocktail, enough to down the entire thing in one go. Peter watches as she does this and carefully guides her hand down before taking the glass away from her. His glass is only a quarter empty.

“Slow down, MJ.”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked,” she says, and motions at the bartender for another drink and a shot. Make that two shots.

“You don’t have to apologize. It happens to some of us,” Peter assures her, and only then does MJ register the fact that Peter’s hand has been holding hers ever since he took her glass away.

Michelle withdraws her hand, using it to tuck some hair behind her ear, “I just—I guess I’m just being selfish for thinking my situation with my parents is shitty, but at least I’ve got parents, right? … Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

She’s rambling. She doesn’t even have a filter anymore but it didn’t matter because Peter is Peter and he understands what she means. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, finally sipping on his drink after some time.

MJ hesitates, but she’s already said more than what she wanted to and the sentiment has been eating her up for so long that maybe it’s time to let the steam out before she combusts. Leave it to the alcohol to make her open up—god, it’s like a truth serum.

“It’s not a big deal. Just, asshole parents. The ‘follow in my footsteps or you’re a disgrace to the family’ kind of parents,” she says quickly.

She’s trying to hide the fact that it hurts her more than she’s making it out to be, but she can feel Peter’s gaze on her and she knows that he can see right through her. Her throat hurts, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the alcohol or from her holding back her tears. 

“Whatever, I haven’t talked to them in years anyway,” she shrugs and laughs bitterly, “Funny thing is, they haven’t even bothered trying to contact me.”

He doesn’t say anything. None of that “it’s okay, think positive” bullshit that MJ’s been thrown at all her life, and for the first time throughout the day, she’s comfortable with the silence.

That is, until she takes another long swig of the cocktail and tries to steal (unknowingly) the man’s shot of tequila beside her that Peter decides its time to head back.

“Okay, I think we’ve had enough,” he holds onto MJ’s wrist and returns the shot, muttering a small ‘sorry’ to the man.

“But you’ve barely even drank,” she replies, brow arched.

“Yup, and now we see who’s okay, and who’s not,” Peter shifts his grip onto her wrist so that he was now holding her hand. The gesture sent a shiver to MJ’s spine and she cursed her body for it.

With her free hand, she fishes for her wallet in her bag, but the sketchpad and the paint tubes are in the way, “I’ll pay.”

“I already took care of it,” he tugs on her and she gets up.

Becoming more and more disoriented, she replies, “What? When?”

“While you were busy staring at your paints. Come on,” he leads her out but not before MJ manages to take the two shots she bought. To which Peter promptly panics about.

MJ curls her arms around Peter’s as they push past the people still entering the bar.

“Can’t we stay a little bit longer? It’s not even 9pm yet,” she asks, feeling the heat rush up to her cheeks more.

“Maybe if you didn’t just try to steal a random stranger’s drink,” he continues to lead her farther and farther away from the bar until they reach a quiet neighborhood.

At this point, Michelle is dragging her feet on the ground. Her eyes are barely open and Peter fear that she’ll pass out any minute.

“Come on, I’ll take you home. Where do you live?” he asks, still holding her steady.

“Why am I gonna show you where I live? What if you stalk me and potentially murder me?” Even as she says this, she’s trying to fish for her keys in her bag.

It takes her a minute or two, but she finally manages to get it. She levels it in front of her face to show Peter, smirking cockily.

“Okay, we have your keys. But now we have to _get_ to your place so we can use your keys.”

MJ laughs and her head dips down. Peter cups her cheek and forces her head up. She doesn’t reply, but instead stares at him, feeling her heart pounding. 

_Shouldn’t have taken those shots._

He returns her gaze, and MJ can feel the heat of the alcohol rushing through her body. She’s sober enough to know that she’ll remember this, but too tipsy to control herself. She takes a jagged breath, and against her better judgement, leans into him, and—

“—Michelle,” he steps back, not because he didn’t want to kiss her but because she was almost drunk and he didn’t want her to make a decision when she’s not in the right mind, “I’m sorry.”

She’s never even _attempted_ something like this in her life so for him to do that embarrassed her. MJ shoves him, too tired to verbally tell him anything but he pulls her close and lets her head rest on his shoulder. She fights it, but Peter’s grip overpowers her and she finally calms down.

“Look, it’s nothing personal. You’re drunk and—” he could feel her shoulders rise and fall and he feels bad for making her cry.

“MJ?” he looks at her but she doesn’t respond. Carefully, he tilts her head upwards and realizes that she’s not crying. She’s _asleep._

Taking the keys from MJ’s hands, Peter knows that bringing her back to her place was now out of the question. So, he sighs, secures one arm on her back and the other around the bend of her knee, and carries her to his apartment.

  
  
\- - - - -

Michelle wakes up with a pounding headache. It didn’t help that she was in a place completely new to her. After all the crime documentaries and conspiracy videos she watches, she’s convinced she got kidnapped.

That is, until she remembers what happened the previous night. Her eyes widen, and she carefully turns to see if Peter is laying on the bed with her. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees him asleep on the couch through the slight opening of the door. Her things are neatly placed by the bedside table and there’s even a glass of water and some ibuprofen. She takes one before pulling the sheets off her and quietly stepping out of the bedroom.

He shifts in his sleep, the calmest she’d seen him ever. His hair was unkempt, but all she wanted was to run her fingers against it. MJ watches him from a distance and recalls what she tried to do last night, then she realizes that she’s being creepy by staring so she quickly averts her gaze away.

But as she looks at the picture frames in his apartment, she can’t help but steal a few quick glances.

There’s a faint voice she could hear growing louder, something about urgently needing something and—

Just then, the door swings open without warning causing MJ to jump and stirring Peter awake. 

It’s Ned.

“—need help for the exam. Holy shit! I’m sorry!” Ned jumps when he sees the two of them and covers his eyes as if he’s seen something ungodly.

Peter uses the blanket to cover up his bare chest–though completely unnecessary–but he did so upon instinct, and MJ looks about ready to murder Ned with her bare hands.

“Don’t you knock!?” MJ yells, flustered.

“No! I don’t have to because Peter never has anyone over and I always come in unannounced,” Ned replies quickly, as if he had a gun pointed to his head.

Peter takes this time to put on a shirt, stand up, and close the door on Ned, “What do you want?”

“I need help in bio!”

“Okay, just—meet me in campus on our usual spot and I’ll fill you in with whatever you don’t know,” Peter has his back against the wall and is staring at MJ whose expression is both embarrassed and annoyed.

“Thanks, man. I’ll see you. Just don’t take too long,” Ned replies, a hint of teasing evident in his voice, and just when Peter and MJ are sure he’s left, “... Don’t forget to stay safe!”

Peter feels something hit against his foot, and he looks down to see a blue Trojan wrapper, much to his discomposure.

MJ notices it and charges for the door, not before Peter blocks it for her.

“No, MJ, stop!” he pushes her shoulders

“He’s never gonna see the light of day,” she swats his hands away, but he’s stubborn and keeps her from going out, “Peter, stop it. Let me out!”

“You’re gonna kill him!”

“You bet I will, that son of a bitch!” 

She’s completely and utterly embarrassed. She’s never been caught off guard like that and knowing _Ned,_ of all people, thinks that she and Peter have been fucking horrifies her. But her headache comes back and she realizes it’s not worth having to get through Peter to get to Ned. She’ll do that next time, when he’s alone and vulnerable.

MJ huffs and finally stops resisting. She can’t deal with this anymore; she’s hungover, tired, and has shit she forgot to complete that were due the next day.

“I’m leaving,” she says with finality.

Peter finally drops his grip from her shoulders, “Don’t you want to stay, at least for breakfast?”

“No, I’ve got things to do at home,” she says while heading back to the bedroom to get her things, “Thank you for letting me stay over. Sorry that you had to deal with whatever it is that happened last night.”

He heads to the kitchen, more than willing to cook breakfast for the two of them, “Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m sorry for what happened but—”

Peter turns around to softly finish the sentence, “are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

The door shuts close, and MJ is nowhere to be seen.


	6. Unheeded Advice

Michelle practically slams the door behind her when she gets back to her apartment.

She can’t believe she drunkenly tried to kiss Peter Parker—no, whatever, it’s not a big deal… Except,  _ it completely fucking is.  _ Oh god, she’s an idiot. Of course he wouldn’t let her kiss him, they’ve only known each other for a month and even then do they barely know anything about each other.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was I thinking? Now Peter knows I have a crush on him. Wait, no, I  _ **_don’t_ ** _ have a crush on him,  _ she berates herself as she empties out the contents of her bag onto her table. She’d never cared about anything other than her work, never cared about what people think, what relationships lasted or burned down, but now, for once she cared.

It’s all that she can think about the rest of the morning. Michelle wishes she had Ned’s number, just for someone to talk to, and maybe to tell him that he was right even though she didn’t want him to be. No, scratch Ned. She can’t deal with him after the entire ordeal that happened earlier this morning.  _ She’s still gonna get him back for that. _

Instead, she anxious scrolls through her contacts until she finds the perfect person to call.

Michelle waits. One ring became two, then three, then finally, an enthusiastic, warm voice finally picks up, “Hey, MJ. Long time no chat, how’ve you been?”

“Betty, can you come over?”   
  
  


\- - - - -

“Wait a minute, so you mean to tell me we haven’t seen each other in months and now you,  _ Michelle Jones,  _ for god’s sake, has developed a crush?” 

Betty Brant is comfortable sitting on top of MJ’s dining table with her legs crossed, an opened bag of chips beside her while MJ is sprawled across her couch. If this isn’t what a college budget therapy session looked liked, then she doesn’t know what is.

“Okay, I told you, I’m sorry I haven’t reached out, I’ve been busy with—”

“—a certain boy, I know,” Betty teases, her innocent expression manages to turn more playful.

“School,” MJ retorts, looking directly up to the ceiling, “See? This is exactly my problem. I don’t have time for whatever this,” she gestures circular motions to her torso, “is.”

Betty rolls her eyes, snacking of the chips, “Just say it: feelings. You have _feelings.”_

Michelle frowns, stubborn as always, “I will not.”

“Stage one to acceptance is always denial,” Betty replies in a singsong manner, uncrossing her legs and stepping down from the table to walk to where Michelle was lazily lying down. Betty bows down, her hair cascading onto MJ’s face, “You have a crush.”

“Doesn’t matter. He probably doesn’t like me back,” Michelle shrugs, trying to act like she doesn’t care.

Betty moves Michelle’s legs to give her space to sit on the couch, “What makes you say that?”

“I tried to kiss him last night and he stepped back.”

“You did _what!?”_ Betty’s head shifts towards MJ’s direction, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? What do you mean he stepped back? Did he say anything?”

MJ groans, “He said he was sorry and some other stuff but I can’t remember anymore. I was pretty drunk, and honestly? I’m doing my best to block out the memory.”

“Hmm,” Betty nods. 

Michelle raises her head to give her a look, “What?”

“So you say no to my invites of drinking out which, mind you, are already very rare because I–if you haven’t noticed–rarely drink, but now you’ve got a boy in your life and not a second spared?” Betty feigns devastation through her exaggerated gestures. MJ can’t help but roll her eyes.

“That’s not the point,” she replies.

“Chicks before dicks, MJ,  _ always.”  _

Michelle props herself up using her elbows, looking at Betty with an arched brow, but then it immediately softens, “What do I do?”

Betty’s teasing expression shifts to match Michelle’s. She’s never seen MJ in a state of conflict, especially not when it comes to boys, and it’s actually quite concerning how helpless that “what do I do?” sounded.

“If you ask me? Best thing to do right now is to talk to him, but all I know is that you can’t keep denying that you’re an actual human being and you’re capable of having feelings too,” Betty sheepishly smiles, reaching out to hold MJ’s hand.

Michelle just as sheepishly squeezes Betty’s hand out of anxiety, “What do I tell him then?”

“Up to you, maybe you should ask him about last night.”

Just hearing that made MJ heave out a deep breath. Though she is the type to be confrontational, even the thought of it made her uneasy, “Thanks, Betty.”

“Anytime,” she smiles warmly.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend. Let’s go out for drinks next time?”

Betty laughs, “Oh, we better. And if ever, what’s his name again, Peter? If ever Peter hurts you, you better make sure I get to hear about it first.”

“You’re like the softest person ever. What are you going to do?” MJ chuckles, picturing all the horrid things the sweet, demure girl in front of her would do.

“I hope we wouldn’t have to find out,” Betty smiles.  
  
\- - - - -

Michelle doesn’t go out of her apartment until Monday. She opts out of stopping by the café in the morning because she was running late, albeit the true reason in which she refused to admit was because she didn’t wasn’t in the mood for any of Ned’s teasing. 

In the evening, she decides to take Betty’s advice and confront Peter. It takes her some time, but she finally manages the courage to turn the block and head down to the café. When she opens the door, the chime alerts the man behind the cashier, but this time, it isn’t Peter.

It’s one of his co-workers, the one usually chilling at the back and letting Peter do all the work. He lazily greets Michelle as she reaches the counter, “Hi, what can I get you today?”

“Um… Do you know where the other guy is?” She asks, pretending not to care, but just curious.

The guy shrugs, “Beats me. He should’ve been here an hour ago.”

“Hm,” MJ responds, involuntarily eyeing down the guy in front of her, “Is he usually late?”

“I don’t know,” the guy replies dryly which irritates MJ, “Do you need anything from him?”

“No, I don’t care. I was just wondering.” she replies almost defensively.

“Ok. So, what do you want to get then?”

“I’ll just get a green tea and a four-cheese flatbread.”

Michelle pays and the cashier tells her that he’ll serve it to her. Unbeknownst to her, she keeps her eyes plastered on the door as she makes her way to her usual seat, waiting for a chime to sound off, but it doesn’t come. 

A few minutes pass by and she decides to pull out her laptop and begin her research on a paper. The guy comes in with her food and drink and she could see from the corner of her eyes how he immediately retreated to the employee’s area.

_ Typical.  _ Michelle rolled her eyes and went back to work, ignoring the annoyance and disappointment she felt knowing that she had to psych herself up to even  _ enter  _ the coffee shop. 

Eventually, she forgets about the entire confrontation thing and is engrossed with whatever it was she was doing. Her art journal is cracked opened with notes upon notes already in it, more than ten tabs are already opened and she continues to open more.

The door chimes, but after the tenth one, she no longer looks up. Just when she convinced herself he’s no longer going to show up—

“Hey, MJ.”

She almost jumps in her seat, but composes herself quickly, “Hi,” she replies not even looking up from her laptop, but she knows it’s Peter’s voice.

“So, um, how are you?” he asks. She can tell he’s being awkward.

“Good. Busy, as you can tell,” she replies nonchalantly.

“Oh, alright. I won’t bother you then,” he says, awkwardly smiling and then walking away.

It’s the first time MJ looks at him, with her watching him walk to the other side of the counter. By just looking at Peter’s face, she can tell he was rather confused by the interaction they just had, and honestly? So was she.

In that moment, all of Betty’s advice goes down the drain. Michelle has always been stubborn, and it manifested itself in that moment. It was only an hour ago that she couldn’t stop asking about where he was. Now, she doesn’t know what got to her, but she completely pushes him away.

Was it because she didn’t want to seem to eager? Or was it because she was annoyed at the fact that she felt dumb for being disappointed in such a petty thing that she took it out on poor, oblivious Peter?

Whatever it was, she didn’t care. She didn’t even bother asking him why he was late.

By the time Michelle finishes with her paper, it was a few minutes past 2 in the morning. Peter’s shift has ended too and they coincidentally head out at the same time. They’re by the door at the exact same moment, and Peter opens the door for MJ, in which she begrudgingly allows.

_ Stage One: Denial,  _ MJ hears Betty’s words, and she can’t help but roll her eyes. Peter sees this and is immediately concerned.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, furrowing his brows.

MJ frowns, taking faster steps, “What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure? Cause I get the feeling you’re  _ kinda  _ ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?” Peter replies, matching MJ’s pace.

She looks ahead, “Oh, no. I’m just tired and busy. I had a paper due and I just finished it so sorry if it seemed like I was being a bitch.”

Peter is still somewhat concerned, “This isn’t about Saturday night, is it?”

Michelle stops in her tracks, finally looking at Peter for the first time throughout the night, “Did I say it was about Saturday?”

“No, but—”

“Then it’s not.”

Peter rubs his nape, visibly confused, “Can we at least talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about Peter,” MJ replies, her heartbeat racing, “I wasn’t sober, and it didn’t mean anything so you don’t have to worry about it. Okay? Done.”

“It didn’t?” Peter replies softly, and MJ hears a little hurt in his voice but is too insecure to admit that maybe,  _ just maybe _ , there was a small chance that it might have meant something to him too.

She didn’t want to get her hopes up; she’s done that a lot and learnt from her mistakes, and if it meant lying about her feelings, then that’s what she was going to do—sorry, Betty.

“It was just a spur of the moment. Haven’t you ever kissed someone drunk?” Michelle shrugs as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Peter shrugs too, looking down on his feet before continuing on his way.

MJ keeps his eyes on him as he walks away. She knew it wasn’t her place given the words she just said, but his response frustrates her.

Here she is, telling Peter that her trying kissing people drunk means nothing, but is annoyed when he tells her he’s done the same?

_ God, MJ. Make up your goddamn mind.  _

She quickly walks after him, “Don’t just leave me, idiot.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you went this way too,” he responds with a slightly lighter tone than previous.

“Yeah, because you don’t know where I live. Obviously,” she smirks, knocking on Peter’s head lightly, “Thought you were smart.”

“I was just saying,” he raises his hands up in surrender, “I can walk you home. It’s late and—”

“—and I’m not capable of walking home alone at night because I’m a woman and I’m vulnerable and I can’t fend for myself?” she quickly retorts, quirking up a brow.

Peter’s eyes widen and he steps back, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“ _ Relax.  _ Jeez, we’ve known each other for more than a month and you still can’t tell when I’m messing with you?”

“... No?” Peter smiles awkwardly.

MJ rolls her eyes, but she’s more relieved now that the tension from earlier had gone, “Just know that I don’t need someone to accompany me, but since you feel so obligated to, then I’ll let you  _ tag along _ .”

“... Thanks,” he replies slowly, “I guess?”

They turn the corner, walk three blocks before crossing the street through what seems to be a sketchy neighborhood. Peter keeps his guard up the entire time, ready to fight anyone who’ll attack them. MJ finds this adorable, but she keeps her composure the entire time; she’s passed the street countless of times and knows nothing bad actually happens there (except maybe the occasional drug deals). It’s not until passing two more blocks do they reach her apartment. 

She pulls out the keys from her bag, “Thanks for keeping me from getting stabbed, Parker,” she says playfully.

“It’s my pleasure to keep you from getting stabbed,” he replies, but then realizes how stupid it sounded so he makes a face, to which MJ laughs at.

Ones the laughter dies down, there’s silence once again. They smile amiably at each other, until Peter clasps his hands.

“I’ll be on my way then,” he breaks the silence.

“Bye then,” Michelle says, leaning in for a hug. Peter returns it and begins to head to the direction of the subway.

She recalls having to walk forty minutes from the subway just to get back to her place, and when she checks the time, it was already almost 3AM.

“Um,” MJ hesitates, but she’s already gotten Peter’s attention, “Why don’t you just stay over? It’s gonna be another hour before you get back to Queens.”

“It’s okay, I don’t want to bother you,” Peter humbly declines.

“Well, too bad. You’ve made me feel bad for making you go this far so this is what you get for bringing me home,” MJ replies with finality. Peter at this point is too tired to argue, so he shrugs and begins to walk back.

They head up and MJ unlocks the door, “I’ve got my art shit scattered so just don’t mind them, but I’ll murder you if you step on any of them.”

Peter gulps, “Understood.”

When she steps in and switches the light on, she could hear Peter audibly gasp behind her. If she thought she’d seen all of Peter gushing about her work, she wasn’t prepared for what was about to come. There’s a painting she’s been holding off from doing. It was something for her thesis but she wasn’t happy with it and that’s why she’s been struggling to finish it. It’s the first thing Peter spots.

“Don’t mind it,” MJ says, a little bit ashamed as she flips the canvas over before flopping down the couch.

He flips it right back, sitting down with crossed-legs across it, back turned against Michelle, “It’s perfect.”

MJ watches Peter observe and study her painting, keeping her eyes locked onto the brunette while trying her best to avoid looking at the actual portrait.

It was art born out of misery, hurt, and hate. Her parents always hated what she wanted to become. An  _ artist;  _ they’d spit out the word as if it had no worth. They wanted her to go into law, or something that paid well, and if she didn’t, then she was on her own.

She moved out the same weekend, and ever since, she has been on her own.

The portrait Peter was staring at was the first thing she tried to paint after she left her home. She hates it, which is the reason she never bothered to finish it. She doesn’t even know why he thought it looked good. There were blacks, blues and all the fiery shades messily obscuring a silhouette of a girl with a hand outstretched as if she was reaching for something, and it seems like the colors were about to eat her up.

“What does it mean?” Peter’s voice takes MJ away from her thoughts. He turns to look at her.

MJ waves it off, “Nothing. It’s stupid, just me being dramatic. That’s an old piece. I haven’t touched that in four years.” 

“It’s not done?”

“Not to me,” MJ keeps the answers vague, still avoiding to look at the painting. Instead, she looks directly at Peter, “But one day I’ll finish it. Maybe in a few months.”

He pauses, looking at MJ as if he was reading her. She can feel his eyes on her so she protectively crosses her arms and averts her attention elsewhere.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She questions with a hint of annoyance.

There’s another long pause. A mutual sign of hesitation.

“What are you running away from?” Peter finally asks.

MJ is taken aback by this. It’s evident in the way she quickly snaps her eyes back to him with furrowed brows, “What are you talking about?”

“ _ You.  _ You act like you don’t care about anything or anyone. You bring up things about your life and your family but just leave it in fragments. I know I’ve known you for a month but… I barely know you at all,” Peter suddenly lets out, his expression both tired and frustrated. MJ’s tired too, and never did she expect her to get  _ attacked  _ like that by Peter. 

“Who said you have to know  _ anything  _ about me?” MJ retorts with a harsh scoff.

“I didn’t mean it that way—”

“What, then? So now, just because I decide to tell you a bit about my life, I’m supposed to give you my entire sob story?” 

“It’s not wrong to care about someone!” Peter replies defensively, uncrossing his legs and standing up, “Why are you so afraid of telling me what you really feel!?”

Silence. Too much of it. 

MJ’s heart is pounding and she could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. Peter exhales.

“MJ—”

“I’m not afraid, Peter. You just don’t get to dictate whose life you’re allowed to see into,” she stands up from the couch and begins to head to her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Peter tries to continue, but is hushed by MJ practically hurling a blanket in his direction.

“I hope you sleep well tonight,” MJ says, back turned against Peter before softly closing the door.

_ Stage Two: Anger.  _

Michelle digs her nails into her pillow. She doesn’t know if she wants to scream or if she wants to cry, but all she knows is this: everything that Peter said was true, and, she dreads that there is now someone other than herself who could hurt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you guys are enjoying this fic so far. Just a bit of context: I wrote the first four chapters a year ago and decided not to post it until probably half (?) of the entire fic was done, but I began uni and had little time to write it. I recently got the muse to continue it and now that it's summer, I have time to do so. So, updates might be a little slow from now (also considering the recent news about Tom, jkjk. Spideychelle is alive and kicking!).
> 
> What do you guys think of the fic so far? :D  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Swallow Your Pride

_ 8AM.  _ Michelle’s alarm wakes her up.

A groan escapes her, her face still comfortably rested against the pillows and her hair all over the place. She rolls over, picks up the phone and checks the time. She’s about to snooze when she realizes she let Peter stay the night.

In one quick motion, and one that causes her an overwhelming but momentary headache, she bolts up and makes a beeline for the door. When she swings it open, she’s met with an empty living room.

The blanket was folded neatly and placed on top of the coffee table, with the pillow carefully stacked on top of it. Aside from those two and her painting being slightly out of place, it didn’t seem like anyone else but her was there last night. 

Peter left. 

It didn’t bother MJ, at least that’s what she made herself believe. She was just… annoyed that he left without a word. She had hoped to see him in the morning, at least maybe be able to say something about the conversation they had last night. And even up to that morning, she still couldn’t believe Peter Parker managed to catch her off-guard. 

She  _ is _ annoyed. She admits it. But she’s been so in denial and angry that her mood has been constantly fluctuating, like a helpless romantic plucking petals off a flower—she likes him, she likes him not, and right now, she definitely likes him…  _ Not.  _

“I hate you,” MJ says to no one in particular, picking up the blanket he threw at Peter last night, walks over to her bedroom and carelessly tosses it back onto her bed. She sighs, gives the pillow a once-over, and the slightest smile involuntarily manages to form.

She notices it and immediately bite down her lip.  _ God, what the hell are you doing?  _

All this time, she’s been in the middle of wanting to murder him and keeping him close by. She’s never had as many inconveniences and arguments as she had with Peter, and normally she’s quick to cut people like that off. But there was something different, as cliché as it sounded.

The thought wants to make her vomit.

* * *

_ 8PM.  _ Michelle makes a beeline for the cashier.

Peter stares at her. There’s another pause between them, longer than the two would normally share.

“Hi,” she starts, stiffly. 

“Hi,” Peter replies, more lax than her, yet still visibly uneasy.

“Just a regular cup of green tea. And an apple crumble,” she says.

Peter punches in the orders, keeping his eyes on the cashier but glances at MJ once or twice. MJ keeps her eyes on her hands resting on the counter, though she can feel whenever he looks at her.

“Look, if you’re still mad about last night—”

“No,” MJ interrupts, smiling slightly, “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to assume.”

“I’m over it, Peter.”

He rips the receipt and hands it to her, but when she receives it, she doesn’t even meet his gaze. Peter furrows his brows, “Are you really?”

It’s off-brand for her to be so passive-aggressive. MJ has always been the confrontational type, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tell Peter what was irritating her without sounding so shallow, at least not directly.

“You didn’t lock my door on your way out,” she says quietly as she saunters to the claiming area.

“I’m sorry,” Peter replies, beginning to prepare MJ’s food.

Peter waits for a reply, but it never comes. It gives him time to put two and two together. After he places the apple crumble in the microwave, he furrows his brows and turns to face her.

“Is that why you’re annoyed at me?” He asks, leaning against the counter.

“How do you say that?”

“MJ, you literally give me that face five times a day. Of course I know when you’re pissed at me.”

MJ crosses her arms, about to retort with a snarky remark but her visage softens. She sighs, “... You should’ve told me that you were going to leave.”

Peter raises his brows, sporting a rather concerned expression, “Are you  _ annoyed  _ at me for  _ that?” _

“Yeah, I know it’s petty and stupid but I’ve only let two people into my apartment and one of them is you, Parker.”

“Okay, I’m sorry I left your door opened and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was leaving but I thought you were mad at me and didn’t want to see me anymore so I left because I didn’t want to bother you.”

MJ scrunches up her face, “I  _ was  _ mad at you but I gave you a blanket, dumbass. Wasn’t that enough for you to realize that I wanted you to stay?”

She gasps and bites down her tongue. Peter gets caught off-guard.

“What do you mean?” Peter replies cautiously.

A pause. The oven dings but Peter completely ignores it, his eyes locked onto MJ’s.

At this point, the other barista has noticed the two having a little altercation. He rolls his eyes, gets up from the back and begins to tend to the new customers coming in, leaving Peter and MJ to continue on with their conversation.

“Nothing, I mean—I just didn’t want you to go back all the way to Queens at like 4AM,” MJ tries to backtrack, but it was already too late. 

MJ can’t take the words back now, and Peter seems determined to try and decipher the complicated exterior she was putting up against him.

“MJ—”

“Shut up. I didn’t say anything.”

“Can you–just for one second—”

“No,” she’s about to panic. She crosses her arms and turns, heading for the door. Poor Peter–confused as never before–jumps across the counter and follows after her.

It doesn’t take long until he’s able to stop her by grabbing her hand, but by that time, the two were already out of the café and in the evening Manhattan streets. MJ turns to face him, her heart beating faster than normal. She’s embarrassed.

“I don’t understand you,” Peter says, shaking his head. A small laugh drenched in frustration escapes the boy’s lips.

“Peter, I—”

He interrupts her, “Why can’t you just be clear to me? Because honestly, MJ? I can’t fucking tell. You try to kiss me and then you ignore me. You ask me to hang out with you but object to any attempt of me trying to get to know any more of you. I—I can’t win, can I?”

MJ opens her mouth to respond, her heart sinking at the truth Peter was throwing at her, but he is so frustrated that the stream of words just keeps coming.

“You always shut me out when I’ve barely done anything. And I can’t help it but blame myself and wonder what is  _ so wrong  _ with me that you’re pissed at me all the fucking time!” Peter yells in exasperation, utter pain just welling in his eyes. And it didn’t dawn upon MJ how much exactly she’s hurt him just by being so unclear with her feelings.

He’s about to say something else but MJ’s breathing gets heavier. She beings to tune him out and could no longer hear his words; instead, she hears her increasing heartbeat until it turns to a ringing sound. She’s looking at Peter but she can’t register any of what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s true. He’s right, and he’s hurt. And it’s her fault.

“I don’t know!” She snaps, her fingers frantically running through her hair, “I’m confused, okay!? Holy fuck—you have no idea how much I absolutely  _ loathe  _ you, but at the same time, I don’t. I  _ don’t.  _ Do you know how frustrating that is, Peter!? And I can’t bring myself to tell you because I don’t want it to be real but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I… I—I  _ like _ you, Peter.”

This completely shuts Peter up. It takes a couple of seconds to process what MJ had just said. At this moment, her breathing has increased even more, anxious as to what Peter’s reply would be.

“You… don’t want it to be real?” Peter replies delicately, an obvious hint of confusion and melancholy.

“That’s not what I meant,” MJ says weakly, breaking her gaze away from Peter’s and looking down at her shoes.

“Then what? And tell me, honestly,” Peter purses his lips, his voice resolute.

Michelle inhales deeply, holds it, and sighs, “Last night when you asked me what I was running away from… I panicked. Everything you said was true. You think I don’t give a shit about anything? I do. You have no idea how much I do care, and I hate it. I hate it because most of the time, it hurts to care so much. So I pretend not to. I know that’s the kind of person I am, but for you to be able to point that out terrified me.”

Despite her lowered head, she tries to take a quick glance at Peter. She can see him staring at her, concern laced in his expression.

“You shouldn’t be scared of opening up to me,” Peter replies not too long after, empathy in his tone.

“That’s exactly the problem, Peter. For years I’ve made sure that I would be the only person to know who I truly am through and through. I didn’t want anyone anyone having the capability to disappoint me except for myself. And for years, that was the case—until I met you.”

“Have I disappointed you?”

“Only in the beginning, but it didn’t matter then. Now I’m afraid that it  _ will  _ matter. Who knows, you may even do so right now.”

“How so?”

“You tell me, Peter.”

It took everything in MJ’s being just to confess to him, knowing rejection would come at the expense of her pride, but she did it anyway. She has refused to make eye contact with him, her heart pounding each second Peter doesn’t respond.

Suddenly, she feels his fingers delicately tap the back of her hand. Involuntarily, MJ opens her palm, allowing Peter to take her hand. Only then does she look up.

Peter is looking at their intertwined fingers, seemingly struggling on figuring out what to say next, but eventually he finds Michelle’s gaze.

“I thought you hated me,” Peter begins, chuckling softly, "Guess I thought wrong.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes slightly but she’s completely flustered. Seeing this, Peter clears his throat and continues.

“Your ability to push people away completely blows my mind, but I get it. I just wish… You’ll let me see more into your life,” he says gently, cupping both of her hands now with his, “... I like you too, MJ, but I don’t think I know you enough. At least not yet.”

There’s a little pang in MJ’s heart for the sole reason that once again, her insecurity was being realized in front of her.

“I can’t guarantee I won’t ever disappoint you, but I promise it’ll be worthwhile,” Peter finishes, bringing MJ’s hands up and brushing his lips against her knuckles, “Please, let me know you more.”

MJ swallows thickly, the sensation of Peter’s hot breath against her skin causes her body to shiver in the mid-autumn evening atmosphere. By now, dozens of people have passed by them, ignored them, and carried on with their nightly commute home. The coffee shop’s sign illuminate their faces as he awaits her response.

She’s stunned still, slowly processing the fact that she told him she likes him and he likes her back. It was mutual, and she’s never gone this far with anybody to know what to do next. Does she kiss him? Does she say ‘yes’ as if Peter had just proposed to her? 

Instead, she retreats into Peter’s arms, surprising the male momentarily. MJ curls her arms around Peter and rests her hand snugly on his shoulder. Once Peter regains composure, he slowly coils an arm around MJ, the free hand stroking her brunette curls. 

Without having to utter another word, they both understood what it meant.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola guys! Sorry for this late upload, I was really busy with uni stuff. Anyway, here's a bit of fluff for now. More fluff to come—you know what they say, it's the calm before the Storm!


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